with 8000 counterclockwise revolutions per minute and all that shit….
It was a cold day. The train was parked amidst some godforsaken jungle. The LTE sign on my notification toggle flickered like a dying candle. A mild morning light came seeping through the web of trees. And in front of me lay amorphous pieces of human turd which the last fellow passenger had probably forgotten to flush. That’s a regular scene in North Indian train toilets, so I did not make a fuss about it. I just peed, saving any possible collision of my stream with the last man’s debris, and then I tried to flush but there was no water, so I slipped out like a mouse.
The sleeping beauty on the side-upper berth had finally woken up. She fished in her fancy handbag and pulled out a fancy brush. It was one of those toothbrushes people with Swiss bank account buy – with counterclockwise 8000 revolutions per minute and all that hyper level shit; the ones so expensive that they don’t even advertise during daily soaps, so my mother has no idea about their existence.
I imagined telling my mother about such toothbrushes and about people owning them.
“We used powders and your Nanny rubbed ashes and sand on her teeth. Now I’m beginning to think we are cave people. “She’d say, and then add that toothbrush to her wish list.
The girl did not have a toothpaste though. Maybe it came with an in-built mint flavour, I thought.
Is there any cap to how rich you can get? I could have all the money in the world and still be poor as fuck. If I get rich enough to buy that kind of toothbrush, I’d rather buy one of Saturn’s moons and drill oil out of it to get even richer.
The girl went towards the wash basin. I was not sure if she could bear all that revolting shit. See, with richness there comes a whiff of intolerance. But she handled it pretty well.
A just-woken-up girl brushing her teeth in a train is not exactly how they show you in movies. I mean they look pretty wrecked up, but it’s kind of cute, nevertheless. Yeah, you won’t like to snog her but you could still make art out of her.
I thought I would, but then I gave up that thought. She was too rich and too far. And I had my own worries. So I turned around like a good boy and walked back to my berth, plugged in the earphones and played Kailash Kher on a loop.
Neighbour, girl and Christopher Nolan. 😑
Exams, guys. 😑
That apart, I think I’ve run out of topics. From love to commode, I’ve touched upon every spectrum of life that seems worthy to be touched upon. Yeah, I haven’t written about crabs, or NASA’s ongoing endeavour to successfully pave the way for intergalactic meme exchanges, or GST, but you wouldn’t really care about those petty stuffs. I really don’t know what to write. At times, I want to write about neanderthals and slavery, but there’s no fun in that.
So let me shower upon you the daily regular monotonous stuffs of my life.
1. My neighbour lost his admit card. Almost.
Well, such things pretty regular when it comes to my neighbour. It is the first day of exam and he thinks, ‘oh well! There’s no reason why one should not have spring roll on the first day of his exam.’ So he goes to this little corner by the park, munches on some nice little spring rolls and while pulling his wallet out, loses the admit card. Two minutes later, all the spring in his life turns autumn brown. And then he darts around like a blind bee, wishing for x-ray vision or something. He is already late for the exam.
A shopkeeper shows him an MP’s secretary’s door, who writes vague orders on his writing pad, that supposedly allowed him to sit through the paper without being harassed by the examiner. Then he races upto the college with the speed of light, thus proving Einstein’s thoery wrong, and makes two rounds of college to find his room. He eventually gets in, and finishes the paper before everyone else. Adrenaline!
Later he finds his admit card posted on Facebook with a lost and found notice, with love reactions and all, and people praying for its safe return.
2. This girl is back with a bang.
She was pretty insignificant in std. 6. I mean they all are ugly little annoying things in std. 6. Look at Doctor, for example, even though she was never ugly – I mean even the ultrasound photos of her foetal form could inspire artists and cause world war 3 – she was pretty annoying. Like, remarkably annoying. And evil. Like, if she had a choice between a lifetime free coupon to Baskin-Robbins and watching us choke to death she would happily quit ice cream.
Anyway, this other girl I was talking about was kind of invisible, despite being my friend’s supposed girlfriend. Flat chest, single pony, plain features. And fast forward 8 years from then, and oh my heavens! I ran into her on instagram and found this short video. No it wasn’t sexual, it was just her expressions, and my pulmonary veins spasmed with the thud of a lifetime. My eyes bulged out with escape velocity and my jaw sank into earth and pine trees grew behind my molars and I was still not in my senses. My neighbour saw it too and he was impressed as well.
I texted my friend that he was the dumbest ass in the multiverse for leaving a beauty like her, to which he replied, “she friendzoned me. ”
O you poor thing!
I told this other friend of mine who was busy ogling his hot neighbour showering naked with lights on and so he didn’t pay attention. Later he told me she has been in a pretty great relationship for the last two years.
3. I watched memento.
Christopher Nolan hands down is the most intelligent movie director of all time. He is so intelligent that when they were launching Cassini, they hid pirated copies of his movies inside, so that if aliens hit upon the vehicle, they do realise we are intelligent species.
So I watched memento and realised how awfully Bollywood had copied the theme from a south Indian copy of the movie. They just made it a romance-revenge drama, where it was the thriller of the century. I was mondblown at the end of the movie, turning and twisting in my bed like a poisoned dog. I googled and tried to understand the theory. It took me a while. Then, the Jio Guy saw the movie and he barged in last morning.
“Barbossa, what the fuck did I just watch!!?”
Fifteen minutes later, we were hunched over the notebook, trying to figure out the ending with the help of diagrams and flowcharts. We did a little research on anterograde amnesia and discussed all the perspectives and possible cases. It was like preparing a thesis. We even watched the movie, this time in a forward order, wondering if Leonard’s version was fabricated.
Another neighbour dropped in and seemed quite impressed with our nerdity. Or maybe he thought we were idiots. Anyway, he congratulated us for making such a deep contribution to the development of nation and exited. We couldn’t reach a concrete conclusion though.
A journey pleasant and not so pleasant. 😌
We drove amid the downpour for an hour to reach Katihar Jn. The loud splashes at the window and the faint music in the car sort of swirled into a nostalgic lemonade, throwing me onto the glowing streets of Ranchi – Airport road and all – and I ended up thinking about someone I shouldn’t. I was also missing my mother a lot, because she’d always come to see me off in all these years and that day was an exception. It was plain nostalgia, but it was pretty awful.
The train arrived, trundling with an ebbing musical roar, well before time and I picked my luggage up and started towards B8. Red coaches, white lights, blue seats – Rajdhani offers you weird amusements. The last time I travelled by this train, I swore never to come back here. But you know my mother, right? She thinks Rajdhani is Noah’s arc and so I was here, yet again, jostling through the crowd to find my seat, my mind doubtful and my soul uneasy.
That’s when I saw her. Black top, dark blue jeans and rectangular frameless specs. There was a man by her who I suppose was her father. They both didn’t look related at all, though. She was pretty and he looked like the normal middle aged guy who acts in teleshopping commercials. My seat was just above her and it was kind of comforting. No, I wasn’t filled with lust instantly like I am supposed to. You see, when you are missing your guava trees, erection is impossible.
I sat on the edge of the seat and twenty minutes later, the dad bid her bye and got off the train. Okay, now I was curious. I scanned through the boggie and found just one competitor – the guy on the side upper berth. He seemed like a narcissistic moron, who would spend a hundred bucks on haircut. But he wasn’t much interested, it appeared, and that escalated my chances of getting to strike up a conversation with her.
I had it planned. I’d pretend to look out the window, but just so well that she knows I’m pretending to look out the window, and check her out, just so well that she knows I’m checking her out. Then, I’d check her reaction.
Yeah! That was it! This trick never gets old. How else do you think Roman knights wooed their damsels? They pretended to look somewhere else.
Er..As it turned out, though, the girl took my acting seriously and started looking out the window herself. She thought I saw something fishy, like a flying baby or something, so I stopped peering out and let a behemoth sigh. This idea tanked like Bombay Valvet.
I thought about giving another try. I pulled out my sleek golden Galaxy J2 and plunged my earpieces in and fished through my albums for a girly romance. There was none, so I played Lootera. I was halfway through the movie when I realized I had to only pretend to watch the movie, and not actually watch it, and just so well that she knows I’m pretending to watch the movie and well you know the rest. Ughh…this was proving to be a lot more difficult than I’d imagined.
The train staff arrived with samosas, and just ten minutes later, a family stepped in. There were five kids in that goddamn family. Perhaps the news of the invention of condoms had not yet reached their village. Five kids who looked alike and wore the same dress. I bit the samosas with trembling jaws as I calculated how many hours more to go with those imps in the next boggie. Delhi was yet a billion light years away, but I hoped they’d realize they’d boarded the wrong train and get off at the next station. That didn’t happen anyway.
The bastard – the other guy in his late twenties, with receding hairlines and all, who looked like an Insurance agent you shouldn’t trust – on my opposite seat took advantage of my nervousness and tried on the girl. First, he called somebody on the phone and started conversing in lame English. There’s this English that you speak from your heart, and then there’s this English you speak to make your copassengers guess if you are the illegitimate child of Warren Hastings. This guy was getting an accent in his conversation, and that pissed me off.
Then what he did was completely out of the book. He hung up and asked the girl if she was from DU.
“Galgotias. “She said and I almost laughed.
“Oh. “He said, “My cousin studied there. ”
Like fuck he did! Like fuck he had a cousin!
“Oh nice. “The girl said. Now I was getting worked up, and to add to my ire, the five kids in the next boggie started crying together. There was no symphony in their wails and it jabbed my ears and gave me cerebral aneurysm. I loathe kids.
The man started talking about his cousin and this teacher who she would probably get to know in the second year, and I just pretended to look at my Galaxy J2 while I gritted my teeth in rage.
The only comfort was that the girl wasn’t interested much.
The kids stopped howling after their mother thrusted a lollipop each in their mouths and I felt like asking why she hadn’t done it already for the last one million years. Parents are dicks, I tell you.
I finished Lootera and concluded that love is bullshit after all and nobody’s going to paint leaves for me, so I climbed up onto my berth and tried to sleep. I couldn’t because the blinding white from the flush mount ceiling light was giving my soul a third degree torture. I considered switching it off but the girl had already opened The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari by now, and I was pretty sure she couldn’t read in the dark. Damn.
Late at night, when people were about to sleep, she asked me if there was an extra pillow on my berth. I felt like giving her my own pillow. Umm…not really. Sacrificing your pillow is the zenith of virtue. This Ranchi girl I dated once asked me to come over to her room so that we could sleep together (in the most innocent manner possible) but get my own pillow because she wouldn’t share hers with me whatsoever.
Anyway, that bastard got off his seat and went to the train staff and demanded a pillow without the delay of a breath.
“I’ll rate this train a big 0, I swear. “He swore, and I could see the girl’s face and I almost laughed at how she wanted to jump out the emergency window.
“Is he your brother? “I asked. She looked at me, pretending to be thinking about it, but just so well that I knew she was pretending to be thinking about it and said,
“That would be a nice proposition. ”
He brought two pillows with him and asked her to tell him if she needed anything else.
“Thanks Bhaiyya. “The girl said.
They never talked again.
An hour later, I thought about giving it a shot, this time, without any pretense, and so I poked my head down, but she was asleep and beautiful and so I just smiled and got my head back on my berth and slept.
Till the kids started crying again.